


Duck

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Crushes, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Icheb hides from Seven in Tuvok’s quarters with quiet ulterior motives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duck

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Icheb’s age is unlisted, but the actor was an adult during filming, so I’m counting that. It’s still a huge age difference between him and Tuvok, but I’m not tagging that as nothing happens here. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He won’t lie. He doesn’t have to for this, not exactly, though he must omit certain things: he won’t admit to motive. Tuvok will assume youthful curiosity, and that will have to suffice. It’s more logical than the doctor’s... butterflies. Emotions are... _confusing._

But Icheb is old enough to face them, to examine them, to determine how to appease them. The doctor has helped him learn how to tell which anxieties are merely happiness or longing in disguise, and this is that: an unbridled interested in the form of a knot in his stomach. He’s an adult by numbers, but he feels like a child sometimes, so new to his ‘humanity.’ At first, he tried to ignore the clench of his chest whenever a certain officer spoke to him. But that’s only made it grow. He knows he has to do this, to confront what he wants, though he knows, of course, that he simply _can’t_ have it.

He presses his finger against the wall panel next to Commander Tuvok’s door all the same. A PADD is clutched tightly in his other hand, numbers streaming across the screen from a signal linked to astrometrics. It took considerable work to make that untraceable, just like it did to mask his life signs, but he needs a little time to get this out of his system, and it won’t work if Seven catches him. She’ll drag him away and want an explanation, and Icheb...

Icheb couldn’t explain it if he wanted to. Not even to another ex-Borg with the same confusion for _everything_. Instead, he stands by himself, posture rigid in his fear, though of course he knows that isn’t reasonable; there’s nothing to fear. Knowing that doesn’t help. He mentally checks the time it would take a man of Tuvok’s size and gate to cross his quarters from various popular points: 1.057 seconds from the replicator mounted on the wall, 2.415 seconds from the couch in the general living space, 3.726 seconds from the port windows in the bedroom. Icheb’s calculating the distance from the shower—although he knows that’s a dangerous road to go down with his still somewhat uncontrollable thoughts—when the door smoothly slides away. Tuvok’s tall form towers over him, face as unreadable as ever. 

“Icheb,” he greets in monotone. He’s still in uniform, posture just as straight as Icheb’s. “May I help you?”

Icheb takes a moment’s pause, unplanned for, and the hesitation in itself unnerves him; perhaps it isn’t wise to pursue something that dulls his reaction time. But the thoughts won’t go away, and he still manages an equally neutral, “Commander. I was wondering if it would be possible to spend the next half an hour in your quarters.”

Both of Tuvok’s eyebrows lift. Icheb’s told this is a classic Vulcan move, though Icheb has no interest in any other of the Vulcans aboard to have a clear grasp of the nuances with the species. Though Vulcans have been assimilated, their stereotypes are not standard remaining data. If Vulcans were prone to more expressive behaviour, Tuvok might sound miffed, but instead, it’s only a tiny undercurrent. “I suppose you have a reason for such a request?”

“I am studying the nebula.” Icheb holds up his PADD to prove it, and Tuvok’s eyes slip to the screen, then back to Icheb’s face. “However, Seven would have me regenerate. I must therefore conduct my research from an area where she is unlikely to find me. The privacy of crew quarters is the logical choice. As I intend to study, a Vulcan would seem the least disruptive presence to share space with, and you are the only Vulcan I know well enough to ask.” In a bizarre sort of way, it does _all_ make sense, but it still sounds silly once it’s left Icheb’s mouth. It’s a complicated excuse to spend more time with a handsome man he admires, after-hours and in that man’s quarters. He holds Tuvok’s gaze, nervously defying Tuvok to turn him away. 

Tuvok merely asks, “Need I remind you that I have children?” Icheb must look confused, because Tuvok continues, “Though your proposal is plausible, you are essentially asking if I will help you ‘hide’ from your guardian so that you will not have to abide by your assigned bedtime.”

Prepared for this, if not the wording and the reference to Tuvok’s children—which is so strange to be reminded of, as Tuvok looks so very _young_ , and Icheb internally cringes to think Tuvok might view him as a child—he says forcefully, “Except that I am an adult, and I am more than capable of deciding when it is appropriate for me to regenerate.”

“Perhaps you should make that argument to Seven of Nine.”

“Seven of Nine is still part Borg. She can be... stubborn.” Which is an awkward thing for Icheb to say, because he has tremendous love for her, whether or not she’d admit she reciprocates, but the insult is nonetheless true. Tuvok regards him for a moment, but it’s a statement that can’t be denied. To strengthen his case, Icheb adds, “The nebula I am studying will be out of sensor range tomorrow. I will not be able to gather the same data I can now, whereas I am capable of extending my regeneration tomorrow to compensate for the lapse. While Seven may have good intentions, if she finds me before I have completed my research, I may lose a substantial learning opportunity for the sake of a rigid, arbitrary timeline.” 

To his surprise, Tuvok deduces, “That is a valid line of reasoning. I cannot deny that you are, indeed, an adult, and therefore entitled to nurture your well being at your own discretion. Very well. You may stay in my quarters.” He shifts sideways and takes a step back, making room in the doorway, and adds, “For precisely thirty minutes.”

Icheb stifles the bizarre urge to smile. Grinning still makes his face feel strange, and if he wishes to impress a Vulcan, transparent emotions won’t help. Instead, he steps around Tuvok and walks into the open quarters, uncomfortably aware of his own strides. Lieutenant Paris once told him he walked ‘clunky,’ like the Borg. He wishes he were graceful instead, but the movements of one’s limbs aren’t so easy to relearn. He pauses in the entrance of Tuvok’s quarters, then wills himself to move before Tuvok issues him to a single chair across the room. He heads straight for the elongated couch against the back wall, where he sits squarely in the middle. 

There’s a stack of blocks on the glass coffee table cut in various shapes in sizes. So it comes as no surprise when Tuvok glides over to it and takes a seat on the couch next to Icheb, only about half a meter between them. If the proximity is troublesome for Tuvok, he doesn’t say anything. Icheb finds it’s just close enough to feel the warmth of Tuvok’s being and the faint scent of Tuvok’s strong body. Icheb lifts the PADD appropriately, one hand lifting to target data points, while he watches Tuvok out the corner of his eye. 

Tuvok bends studiously over the table and begins rearranging the blocks. Whether it’s an art form or a meditation ritual, Icheb has no idea, but Tuvok was obviously in the middle of it before Icheb interrupted. He handles each decorated peace with a slowness and a delicacy. Perhaps it’s both art and meditation. 

Icheb does study his data. He’s examining the nebula that’s growing steadily further and further away from Voyager’s sensors, because of course, Tuvok won’t be fooled if he isn’t. But he has no true use for the data, and he doubts he is actually learning anything that could be construed as consequential. In truth, he finds the silhouette of Tuvok in his peripherals far more engrossing. 

Everyone onboard admires Tuvok. That much is obvious. He’s a more than competent officer. But extreme intellect doesn’t have the same value to every species, and Icheb admires it especially. More than that, he admires Tuvok’s enlightenment—the ability to balance the logic of the universe with a more spiritual, intangible quality. Tuvok isn’t particularly warm, but neither is Icheb, and Icheb doesn’t value social dynamics nearly as much as he does the ability to mentally calculate the multiplication of ten-digit figures in under a second and the ability to sustain sanity around the chaotic forces of the universe, most notably human unpredictability and Mr. Neelix’s baffling existence. But perhaps Tuvok’s greatest trait is his strength of character: his ability to so thoroughly administer and adhere to rules whilst still instilling trust and a connection with the crew. He’s strong in himself but highly adaptable. He’s both rigid and graceful at once, a balance of diametric accomplishments that Icheb could never hope to achieve. 

And he’s handsome, too. Icheb has caught himself more than once staring too long at Tuvok’s broad shoulders, or Tuvok’s long, talented fingers, or the trim, fit muscles of Tuvok’s figure. His eyes are deep, powerful, his eyebrows stern, commanding, his thin lips so well-controlled, and yet they look so _soft_ , and sometimes there are flashes in Icheb’s head, wild imaginings, of just what this mysterious _pon farr_ would be like, an experience so powerful that even the Borg’s stringent processing could never stifle the emotional imprint. When Icheb draws on his memory banks, he can pinpoint that exact buried desire, and it sets his blood on fire, and he looks sideways at the one Vulcan he knows and wonders, _what would he have to do to feel that under his hands?_

But of course, Tuvok would not want to speak of such things. Tuvok would likely have little to no interest in him: a young, skinny man of a backwater race and a dry, patched-together identity. He has nothing to offer. And Tuvok is married, and Vulcans are as stubborn as Seven.

Finally, when twenty-six minutes have passed, Tuvok asks, “Why are you examining me more than the nebula you claim to be studying?”

It catches Icheb off guard, though of course, it shouldn’t. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to get anything past Tuvok, and he hurries to recover, to explain, “I admire your... intelligence.” Which is only a fraction of the truth, but he has no wish to gush. 

Tuvok looks sideways at him and lifts one arched eyebrow. He seems to consider Icheb’s response for a moment before he says, “I suppose Vulcans would be easier for a Borg to relate to than humans, in certain respects.” Icheb nods: a human gesture he’s picked up from crewmates and probably Seven.

“I was also wondering if you would be willing to educate me on Vulcan meditation techniques sometime.” He didn’t mean to say that, but it’s come out. It was another plan from the get-go, but it seems an odd fit into the conversation right now. He does find Vulcan meditation fascinating. But mostly he would just enjoy more time with Tuvok, and even if his desires could never be acted upon, it would at least make life more tolerable, and alien cultures can only prove educational. 

To his mild surprise, Tuvok says, “Very well. But not tonight. It is time for you to regenerate.” Icheb doesn’t have to look for a clock to know his time is up, and he can’t help but frown. 

But then it sinks in that Tuvok’s agreed to more time with him, and that’s progress. His expression is back to neutrality as he gets to his feet, fingers flying across his PADD to save and lock his information. He says amicably, “It would indeed be best to return before Seven grows... worried.” She wouldn’t admit to it, but she would be. Tuvok gets to his feet too. 

And Tuvok walks him to the door, though it’s only a short journey. It opens automatically for his departure, out into the corridor set on simulated ‘night.’ Icheb turns on the spot before he’s stepped foot onto the other side. He looks up at Tuvok, who seems to be waiting for him. 

Then Icheb lifts up on his toes and leans in, pressing a chaste, closed-mouth peck to Tuvok’s cheek. He’s surprised that Tuvok doesn’t pull away, but all goes as he planned. 

He sinks back to his feet, and Tuvok only eyes him blankly. Perhaps skeptical. Icheb’s voice is weak as he explains, “A Brunali gesture of affection.”

“A human one as well,” Tuvok replies, though his tone indicates that he thinks he must not understand it as well as he once thought. Icheb doesn’t want to clear things up anymore; he’s not sure if he’s ready for the risk. 

He gives Tuvok a curt nod and heads back down the corridor, PADD clenched tight in his trembling fingers.


End file.
